


Family Trip

by Raspberries_Heartbeat



Series: Insights in the domestic life of the 221B Baker Street family [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Camping, Childhood Memories, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Family Feels, Greg Lestrade & John Watson Friendship, Greg Lestrade & Sherlock Holmes Friendship, Holmes Brothers, John Watson Loves Sherlock Holmes, John Watson appreciation, John Watson is a Saint, M/M, Mentions of the war (brief), Mycroft is real tired of your bullshit, Parental Greg Lestrade, Parentlock, Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson, Sherlock loves pirates, sherlock loves bees
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-08-08 07:28:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16425017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raspberries_Heartbeat/pseuds/Raspberries_Heartbeat
Summary: The merry Lestrade-Holmes-Watson family goes on a camping trip.





	Family Trip

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KasyStarchild](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KasyStarchild/gifts).



> Written for the birthday of a wonderful human being who I love so much <3

The quiet murmur of the rented mini-van was the only sound in the air on the beautiful summer afternoon; the afternoon Gregory Lestrade would take his family on an awesome trip.

Greg was in high spirits- as vacations came seldom enough, and a vacation with his little family had never happened before- and whistled idly, while he set the turn signal and came to a halt at Baker Street. The weather was fantastic, which was rare in London, and he got all the supplies they would need: Tents, camping cookers, cutlery, blankets, sleeping bags, food, and dozens of other its and bits.

The detective inspector was a family man by nature and he _adored_ the outdoors. Spending time in the woods with his favourite people was about the best thing he could imagine doing with his free weekend.

If someone had told him a few years ago, that he would consider the snarky detective and the stubborn doctor his family, he would have flipped them off. But here they were; John and Sherlock were a thing now (not married but the closest they would ever get to it), Rosie was officially their daughter, and he and Mycroft started dating a few months back and were the proudest pair of uncles.

Life was a curious thing, wasn’t it?

 

Greg honked twice and drummed a little melody with his fingers against the steering wheel, already lost in thoughts about campfires and marshmallows.

Absolutely nothing could ruin his mood.

 

In an explosion of frantic energy, John Watson burst through the door and Greg silently visited that thought again, holding onto it with a bit more force. John was carrying two large bags and his daughter; looking like he had been through a domestic warzone (and Greg would bet his badge that it had nothing to do with getting Rosie travel-ready).

When he caught Greg’s eye though, his own lit up and he gave his friend a lazy smile.

“Mate! How’s it been?”

Greg helped John load all his things in the boot and took Rosie right out of his arms, to cuddle her.

“How’s my favourite bug?” he cooed, which caused Rosie to laugh delighted about her uncle’s warm greeting.

“The bug has been on her best behaviour,” John replied, arranging the infant seat in the back of the car.

“Sherlock however…,” he trailed off; and really, that was all the information Greg needed. Sherlock Holmes wasn’t exactly a ray of sunshine.

 

John sank down into the passenger’s seat heavily, while Greg strapped Rosie in securely. The doctor closed his eyes for a brief second, before he addressed the open door.

“Sherlock! If you’re not ready we’re leaving without you!”

Greg clasped John’s shoulder in a friendly manner while he sat down next to him. “This is going to be great, I’m sure!”

John snorted a little. “Have you met the Holmes brothers?”

 

Sure enough, the Holmes brother in question appeared in the doorway, billowing coat and all even if it was June, looking entirely too expensive to go on a camping trip. He also carried no bag, which was presumably just the snobbish high-class attitude that brought John in such a state of mild annoyance.

“Move. I’m always in the passenger seat.”

“Too bad, it’s taken. Get your ass in the backseat, princess.”

Lovely atmosphere in the Watson-Holmes household.

 

Sherlock grumbled to himself, but made no further move to protest, since his favourite little human was occupying the backseat with him. They would have lovely chats, just like they always did, on this surely immensely _boring_ car journey. 

They took off to the direction of Mycroft’s town house, Greg and John falling into conversation easily, while Rosie asked Sherlock a thousand questions about the outdoors (which he _all_ answered because he was a bloody smart genius who had expanded his “nature” mind-palace wing for the occasion).

 

“Speaking of Holmes brothers, how did you get Mycroft to agree to this trip, anyway? I mean-“ John risked a glance at the backseat, but Sherlock was way too occupied to demonstrate the flight pattern of the common robin to listen in on their conversation- “I got this one with the promise of soil samples and leave patterns. But Mycroft? He doesn’t strike me as the nature type.”

“He isn’t.”

“But he’s coming with us?”

“Yeah.”

John eyed his friend thoughtful for a moment, who tried to appear innocent and failed.

“So, you tricked him.”

Greg couldn’t stop the grin forming on his face. “You could say that.”

“So, you lied to him,” John chuckled at the sheer ridiculousness of it. The lengths they would go to with the Holmes brothers…

“Please, John, lying is such a harsh word. Let’s just say he’s been a bit misinformed, but I will persuade him with my irresistible charm once he’s in the car.”

 

~10 minutes later~

 

“You lied to me!”

“That irresistible charm might come in handy now, pal,” John murmured, already bracing himself for the impact of Mycroft childish (because let’s face it, the Holmes brothers were just giant kids) punch against the passenger seat.

“Relax, My, _babe_ , it will be great.” Greg took one hand off the wheel and reached behind John, to give his partner’s knee a gentle squeeze.

“Don’t ‘babe’ me,” the politician hissed, “I’m an influential man who could ruin your career by the snap of his finger! This is infuriating! Not only am I pressured- pressured, you hear!- to spend my weekend _outside_ , but I have to ride in the _backseat with him_?”

 

“All princesses sit in the backseat, that’s the rule.” Greg actually took his hand off his partner’s knee to high-five John for that one.

“Excuse me?!” The Holmes brothers snapped in unison.

Rosie, who was apparently very amused by her grown-up’s antics, giggled quietly.

 

That seemed to calm Mycroft down a bit. He huffed out a breath and buried himself in his seat, not quite pouting but pretty close. “I hate everybody in this car. Save for you, Rosie, you’re an actual precious angel.”

“I know for a fact that that’s not true.” Greg turned his head a little. “C’mon, love, give us a peck.”

Mycroft grumbled about being pushed around by deceiving partners but complied; leaning forward and giving his boyfriend a quick kiss against his stubble.

 

“Ehw, gross!” Sherlock maturely provided.

Mycroft opened his mouth, but John beat him to it. “No kissing in front of the baby.”

“I’m four,” Rosie remarked, sounding a tad more scandalized than a toddler should be capable of.

“I was talking about Sherlock, honey.”

 

Greg tuned Sherlock’s protests right out, smiling to himself about their strange domesticity he came to appreciate so much.

 

~ A little while later~

The merry Lestrade-Holmes-Watson team arrived at their assigned camp spot at the campground that Greg adored since he visited it with his girls, at least a decade ago. He held fond memories in this place and he was excited to make new ones with his new family.

The Holmes brothers, as it turned out, had never been camping in their posh life and it showed. They were spectacularly useless when it came to putting up tents, so much so that even gentle-soul-John-Watsontm  lost his patience and send them off to occupy themselves with something else (not after he showered everybody in sunscreen in true Dad-fashion).

Mycroft went off to the bathroom area to dress in a more appropriate attire, meaning a suit that wasn’t as expensive and made of lighter material. John remarked he still looked quite fancy nonetheless, especially compared to Greg’s band t-shirt and cut-off-at-the-knee jeans look. Before the politician could educate them on the “highest requirement when standing in her majesty’s service, which is to always dress impeccable, thank you very much”, Greg placed his obnoxiously large sunhat on Mycroft’s, quote, “pretty little ginger head” and shushed him away, to go play with Sherlock and Rosie.

 

Said duo of mischief-makers wandered off to scout the grounds, off to the lake that was located at one of the edges of the small wood. Mycroft wandered around for good fifteen minutes, lamenting the sad fate of his designer shoes which wouldn’t survive this trip unharmed.

When he found the inseparable pair, the sight before him made him forget about mopping for some seconds. The lake was gorgeous; rich blue water, as clear as a crystal, with a small beach-like area surrounding it. There was a small breeze there, that mingled the earthy smell of pine trees with the rich aroma of natural water.

About three steps in the lake, at the part where the water was still shallow, stood Sherlock; but Mycroft wasn’t sure if it was the same man who stepped out of the car with them. All sulky pretence and billowing coats forgotten, Sherlock had his trouser legs rolled up to his knees, his dress-shirt was partly unbuttoned, and he had Rosie on his shoulders, who held onto his hair like it was the mane of a horse. He was busy pointing out the little fish Mycroft could make out from his spot some feet away.

It’s been a long time since Mycroft had seen his little brother so at peace with the world. It tugged at his heart and he admitted quietly to himself, that maybe this vacation wouldn’t be so bad, after all.

 

“You look ridiculous.”

Even a relaxed Sherlock, was still a Sherlock, after all.

Mycroft rubbed the edge of the stray-hat defensively. “I look weather-appropriate.”

Sherlock snorted.

“We’re matching!” Rosie cheered from her spot on Sherlock’s shoulders.

“That’s right, sweetheart. See? She gets it.”

“Whatever.”

Sherlock blew a raspberry in Mycroft’s general direction, before he focused all his attention on Rosie again.

 

“What are the orders, captain? Shall we go hunt for treasures in the sand, or tackle the wild fish some more?”

Sherlock did, what Mycroft would recognize everywhere at any given time, his ‘pirate voice’. It hadn’t really changed much since he was a child, and hearing it now brought back some memories and emotions the politician hadn’t remembered and felt in a very long time.

“We’re playing pirates?” he asked casually, stepping towards the edge of the water.

Now it was Sherlock’s turn to be defensive. “Problem, landlubber?”

“Is there still a free spot in your crew, captain?” He was addressing Rosie but didn’t miss the twinkle in his little brother’s eyes, the twinkle that used to be there whenever a very busy Mycroft agreed to play with him, all these years ago. It were some of the most treasured memories they both shared. The thought of getting to relive them now, share them with Rosie, whom they loved desperately, was enough for Mycroft to forget that he was supposed to be the British government, when he toed off his shoes, rolled up his trouser legs and stepped into the cold water (with a small, dignified squeak).

 

“What do you say, captain? Can he stay on board of our beloved ‘Night Hawk’?”

Mycroft paused, not even registering the enthusiastic approval of their little captain. Sherlock held his gaze shortly, before he looked away.

“You still remember?”

Mycroft had been almost certain that Sherlock had erased most of their time spent together, seeing that they didn’t dwell in memories often; and even if they did, they weren’t this detailed, this clear, this vivid. ‘Night Hawk’, had been the name of _their_ pirate ship; which they had ‘sailed’ when Sherlock must have been the same age as Rosie was now.

Sherlock pursed his lips, a small blush rising to his cheeks.

“Of course, I do,” he murmured, voice softer and gentler than Mycroft had directed towards him in a very, _very_ long time. “Don’t you?”

Instead of answering, Mycroft smiled, brighter than he had smiled all day (hell, probably all week) and splashed some water in Sherlock’s direction.

 

While they sail off to chartered waters, Sherlock recognized the cluster of freckles underneath his brother’s left elbow, that looked like a constellation and he felt a deep sense of happiness that it was still _there_ ; that- after all those years and all those struggles, all those nightmares they have been through- _they were still the same_. Brothers. That after all those years, Myc would look out for him, Myc would keep him safe, Myc would play pirates with him, whenever he had time to spare.

This moment was the turning-point for both of the Holmes brothers; the atmosphere shifted, forgotten was the petty animosity that laid between them when they were in London. Here, they didn’t have to pretend to be their larger than life personas. They were just the Holmes brothers. And that was more than enough.

 

~ Two hours later ~

When the Holmes brothers returned to their campground, they were greeted with a peaceful scene. John was dozing in their hammock, while Greg sat against one of the tree trunks, nose buried deep in what looked suspiciously like a sappy romance novel. 

The two tents were set up with military precision, both big enough to hold all four of them easily.

Sherlock, being the charming boyfriend that he was, stalked over to John; snatched his sunglasses (which were, upon further inspection, from _his own_ collection, so John must have snatched them from him) and ‘dumped’ the napping Rosie on his doctor’s stomach.

John let out a quiet ‘uff’ sound that was mostly for show, before he closed his arms securely around his daughter. He blinked up at his partner drowsily, and snorted when he realized the condition the Holmes brothers were in.

They looked _wild_. They even came barefoot to the campground; forgotten all thoughts of upholding a certain appearance. It was a becoming look on them.

“You had fun, I see?”

“We’re off to some more fun. Did you know that there are at least four kinds of wild bees living in these woods? We saw-“

John held up his hand to stop the undoubtedly excited monologue about bees that was about to follow.

“Do whatever you want, as long as you’re back in one piece at dinner time.”

Sherlock and Mycroft shared an amused look, when Greg added (not even looking up from his book) “And don’t get lost.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes in a fond kind of way. “Yes, _Dad_.”

Greg regarded him over the rim of his reading glasses. “Careful, young man,” he said sternly, but the twinkle in his eyes betrayed his playful nature.

Directed at Mycroft, he added, “Camping isn’t so bad after all, huh princess?”

“Hold your trap, _Dad_.”

 

~ After dinner ~

Darkness had settled over the woods and the four men were all huddled in blankets around the campfire. It was a mild night, the blankets more for the comfort than anything else, while they were roasting marshmallows over the fire.

Rosie’s eyes were dropping by the minute- Greg and John took her swimming after her little nap, joined later on by a pair of very excited Holmes brothers (they really, _really_ loved bees)- but she was fighting sleep persistently. She was tucked safely in the crook of John’s arm and held onto Sherlock’s thumb, in an effort to keep both of her caregivers close.

 

Mycroft was leaning comfortably against Greg, allowing himself to relax enough to give up his usual distance when it came to public displays of affection. This wasn’t public. This was family. He could be himself here, he could snuggle into his partner as much as he wanted, basking in the warmth and security of loving and being loved in return.

When Rosie finally admitted defeat and was tucked in for the night, the sky was full of millions of stars.

Without thinking too much about it, Mycroft started pointing out constellations, explaining how and why they were shaped the way they were. Greg hummed in affirmation from time to time; and when Mycroft looked over his shoulder, he caught sight of his little brother. Because that’s who he was in that very moment, not the genius master detective, just Sherlock. He had his knees drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped around them securely, his head thrown back to catch the grandeur of the night sky.  

In that moment, Mycroft saw a glimpse of the little boy that was still hiding somewhere deep inside the heart of the extraordinary man he grew up to be. His heart grew three sizes.

 

John joined them a little while later, and Sherlock gravitated towards him immediately, soaking up his partner’s closeness and warmth and affection.

John let him, welcomed the attention from his favourite consulting detective in the whole wide world.

 

The four men sat in comfortable silence for several minutes; the cackling of the fire and soft murmur of the wind the only sound around them.

The doctor sighed and let himself sag heavily against Sherlock, closing his eyes, just breathing in the fresh air. He caught Sherlock’s hands and held them tightly in his own; warm radiating from their palms, making him feel raw and loved and absolutely perfect.

 

“This reminds me,” he mused, his voice quiet and warm, “of the time back in Afghanistan where we slept under the stars…”

The next hour was filled with stories told in that quiet and warm voice, stories about unexpected beauty, stories about why people were more important than things, stories of survival and hope.

There was a silence among the listeners, because each single one of them was reminded what a strong, exceptional, kind, and simply incredible human being was telling them with an unbelievable tranquillity about not loosing your humanity under inhuman circumstances.

Sherlock was touched in a way he usually wasn’t; John rarely talked about his time in the war, so it was easy to forget what it meant, what it implied that his partner had been there to mend the hurt soldiers and innocents alike. A wave of gratefulness washed over him; to have John _right here_ with him, in his arms, as _his_.

 

When John paused in between stories, to take a sip of tea out of the flask Greg had prepared ours ago, Sherlock didn’t waste a second and pressed their lips together. It was short, but heartfelt and conveyed enough emotion to make the doctor a little bit breathless.

“Hmm, what was that for?” John hummed softly.

Sherlock shrugged and drew him in for another kiss, enjoying how the light of the fire bathed him in a warm glow that only amplified the warmth he felt in his heart.

“I just love you,” he murmured against John’s lips, nothing more than a breath.

“I love you, too,” John smiled, before continuing his story. And if he noticed Sherlock inching even closer to him, he didn’t comment on it, just silently enjoying the happiness it brought him.

 

~ In the early hours of the morning ~

Sherlock did stay up long after the rest of the Lestrade-Holmes-Watson family turned in for the night. He was eager to collect some rare plants he knew could best found in darkness, and John let him, with the promise that he would return before the sun was up again.

 

The detective crawled into their tent, careful to be as quietly as possible to not wake Rosie, wo was cuddled securely against her father’s chest.

Easily, Sherlock settled behind John, sliding his arm around the doctor’s waist and nuzzling his face into the neck before him affectionately. John stirred and mumbled sleepily, pursing his lips.

“You’re cold,” his voice is scratchy with the lack of use.

“I know,” Sherlock answered, pressing his whole body against John’s back, draping a light blanket over both of them.  “Lestrade told me as much.”

“Do I even want to know?”

“Crept into the wrong tent.”

John laughed sleepily, hushing Rosie, who was stirred by the sudden movement of his chest.

“Did you know that Mycroft sleeps-“

“Let me stop you right there. Not even remotely interested.”

 

Sherlock hummed, before burying his face comfortably in the space between John’s shoulder blades. The fabric of the doctor’s T-Shirt was soft against his cheeks and he sighed contently. It was his most favourite place, with John in his arms- John’s heartbeat against his palm that he pressed right above his heart- and John’s smell all around him, and Rosie pushing up against his other palm, still fast asleep, asking subconsciously for some head scratches. Sherlock obliged willingly.

“T’was sweet, what you said out there. You’re not usually that sweet.”

“It was only the truth.”

John sighed happily, relaxing his muscles in his partner’s hold and letting his eyes slide closed. “Nature is doing you good.”

Sherlock snorted.

“Now, sleep time.”

The silence was only short-lived.

“Hey John, did you know that the common wild bee-“

“Why don’t you go over to the other tent and tell them all about it, hm?”

“Do you think it would be appreciated?”

John chuckled at the genuine question in Sherlock’s voice. “It’s a nice way of saying ‘shut up or I’ll throw you out.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

Silence. John was drifting off comfortably.

“John?”

“If it’s about bees-“

“I love you. So much.”

Tingly warmth shot through John’s body in pleasant waves. No matter how often Sherlock made sure to say it, it never ceased to touch him so profoundly.

“I love you, too.”

 

~ The End ~

 

**Author's Note:**

> There aren't enough camping fics, okay?! 
> 
> Leave some kudos, comments, and bookmarks if you agree :D


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